


What You Know

by smolhombre



Series: For You [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Human Furniture, Kink Negotiation, Kinktober, M/M, Sleepy Sex, collaring, love and affection, soft kinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolhombre/pseuds/smolhombre
Summary: Relationship Maintenance: A Guide, by Credence Barebone.





	1. I.

Sometimes, when Newt isn’t busy and Credence has the courage to ask for it, he lets Credence shut the door to his office at lunch and crawl into his lap.

Credence reads to him, sometimes, even just out of the encyclopedias and journals that Newt has already read, after giving up on getting Newt invested in Tolkien. He realizes Newt likes helping him with the longer, technical words, so Credence starts picking them out just to feel Newt smile and kiss the side of his neck when he gets the pronunciation right.

Newt feeds him, sometimes, and sometimes lets Credence return the favor. Credence has never enjoyed eating so much as when he gets to wrap his lips around the tip of Newt’s finger as he pushes a grape onto Credence’s tongue, or lick the salt from a cracker off of Newt’s skin. If Credence tries something Newt knows he’s wary of, he even lets Credence feed him part of it, nipping at Credence’s fingers as he pulls away.

And then sometimes they just sit in the quiet of Newt’s office, just the ticking of the clock and their breathing as Newt stokes absently at Credence’s sides or pets at his thighs through his scrubs. Once, Credence heard him snoring with one hand still half inside Credence’s shirt, brushing the hair low at Credence’s belly. Credence let him sleep until their lunch hour was up, though the look he gave Newt after must have been baleful enough for Newt to lean forward, pinching Credence’s cheek.

“Did I snore too loud?”

“You should have stretched out in your car, if you were that tired. It’s better for your back.”

“You’re better than sleep. To hell with my back.”

Credence himself thought it was better than sleeping, but Newt requires more sleep to function than Drippy and Margaret Catwood combined, so Credence just keeps looking at him flatly until Newt takes his face between his rough hands and kisses him between apologies.

But today is not one of those days. This week was not one of those weeks. Credence presses the pad of his thumb against the ballpoint nib of his pen and thinks, sullenly, that this wasn’t even that kind of month.

Just as spring was cresting to summer in its full, pollen-filled glory, Newt had a two week training conference in Atlanta, and the day before he was scheduled to come back Credence and Tina took Modesty to a weekend long lacrosse tournament two towns over. Monday after Newt was so busy getting caught up Credence didn’t see him hardly any; he even took the bus home so Newt could stay late and finish, which he had to then do every other day that week. If it wasn't bad enough, Credence can't even stay late since he's also helping Modesty study for the SATs after school, even going to her job at the Y to quiz her from the bench as she watches the kids in her class run laps; and Newt is coming in early still to work on an article for one of his journals and do house-calls, and so despite being in the same building for over eight hours in the day, Credence doesn’t even speak to Newt more often than not. He is greedy, Credence has always known that, but in the hard plastic of his bus seat to and from work every day he tries to pretend he isn’t.

Newt, usually two pots of coffee in already by the time Credence gets to work now, kisses his cheek and seems unbothered by the fact that Credence hasn’t been to his house in weeks, they haven’t even really had lunch in weeks, much less dinner, and — Credence’s face is on fire as he tries to think past the words — Newt hasn’t had the time to _touch_ Credence in weeks.

Beside him, Tara coos to Margaret Catwood in her lap as Credence listens to Newt tut over an overfed iguana in Exam Two.

Maybe they were breaking up, and Newt wanted to spare Credence’s feelings by doing it slowly.

Credence plays with the coiled phone cord near him as Drippy tries to butt her head against him for attention. Newt wouldn’t want Credence to feel bad, Credence knows that. But if it’s at the expense of Newt’s own feelings that he’s drawing this out, Credence wishes he would just say it and be done. Newt doesn’t deserve to be saddled with something he doesn’t want.

Tara nudges his arm.

“Hello? Where’d you go, space cadet?”

His whole body flushes. “I’m sorry, I’m paying attention —”

“Credence, I’m messing with you.”

“I. I was daydreaming, I guess,” he mumbles, face still hot and sure Tara can tell he is lying.

“Me too,” she hums, leaning back in her seat. “I’m on the beach with my wife. I won’t burden your young ears with the rest of it though.”

Credence’s ears are so hot he thinks he can hear them sizzle. “The beach sounds nice,” he manages after a moment of convincing his tongue to work properly.

Newt steps out of the exam room, running hand through his curly hair. Tara raises her eyebrows as she looks between Newt and Credence both. “Newt, you are neglecting your boyfriend.”

Credence is going to _die_.

Newt rolls his eyes, snapping the folder on their desk before handing it to Credence. “Don’t embarrass him, Tara. He’ll quit.”

“Whatever you say, Boss-Man,” Tara mock salutes, taking the folder from Credence’s numb hands to check Mr. Rutabaga the iguana out. (Pregnant, apparently, and not overfed, from what Credence can see on the chart.)

Newt reaches down to put his hand over Credence’s, still playing with the phone cord. “Come back when you two are done with Rudy, yes?”

Credence fumbles the receipt to Mr. Rutabaga’s owner and files the chart Tara hands him blindly, more muscle memory than conscious thought. He is about to be broken up with, isn’t he?

“The beach is nice,” Tara hums as he starts down the hall to Newt’s office. “You could use some sun. You should ask him.”

Credence nods and hums vaguely and doesn’t really answer her.

Newt sits half-bent over his desk, rubbing his temples. Credence hesitates at the door before locking it.

“Are you alright? Do you need medicine?”

Newt leans back, grinning in the same way as he does midway through his first pot of coffee when he’s just starting to come to life.

“Come here, sweet thing.”

Credence’s heart is in his throat as he shuffles to the other side of Newt’s desk. Newt reaches out to grab at Credence’s hips, pulling him close enough Newt can bury his face in Credence’s stomach. Credence pats at Newt’s hair after a moment, his fingers working through knots and brushing the nape of Newt’s neck so he shivers.

“I’ve missed you,” Newt mumbles into Credence’s shirt before leaning back. “When do you think you’ll be coming back to me?”

Credence blinks, the hands in Newt’s hair stilling. “What?”

Newt sighs, wraps his arms around Credence’s waist to pull him even closer. “I don’t want to rush you, and I’ve tried to not smother you. I know Modesty needs to study, and you’re a good brother. But I _miss_ you.” He kisses Credence’s solar plexus through his shirt.

“I’m not..rushed. You’ve been busy,” Credence frowns. “I didn’t want to bother you. I thought...was that not right?” His hands rest on Newt’s shoulders, and Newt is very still underneath him. “I _want_ you to smother me,” he adds when the silence draws on a heartbeat too long.

Credence can’t not yelp as Newt pulls him down into his lap, one leg hooked over Credence’s that pins him there as his arms snake around Credence’s chest.

“I’m sorry, Credence. I’m never too busy for you, I don’t ever want you to think that.”

Newt kisses all the skin he can reach — the tip of Credence’s ear, the little thrum of his pulse in his neck, even the fluttering brush of Credence’s eyelashes — while Credence squirms in his lap, holding back breathless laughter.

“No, I. I’m sorry you thought I didn’t want — _ah_!” Credence cuts himself off with a gasp as Newt’s teeth meet the skin behind Credence’s ear, where he sucks a bruise to the surface.

Underneath him, Credence can feel Newt’s stirring interest. He’s still for a moment, looking to the door and checking the lock is turned, before licking at his dry lips and giving Newt a small, firm grind.

His body melts to bonelessness when he hears Newt groan, feels the vibrations of Newt’s chest through his back.

“How many times will I have to apologize to get you to stop torturing me like this?”

Credence stills where he’s rolling his hips back again. “I don’t mean to —”

Newt shushes him as he pulls Credence down further by his hips, the hot press of his length an agonizing reminder of how long it’s been since they’ve touched each other like this.

“It’s a torture to not be able to spread you out and work you over the way I want to, when I want to,” Newt murmurs into Credence’s shoulder.

Credence swallows. “H-how do you want to?”

It is very quiet for a very long minute, and Credence hurries to apologize. They are at work, it’s inappropriate, Credence _knows_ that, but —

“I’m sorry, Newt. I just. I’ve missed you, and I...I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the place,” he finishes in a mumble. Newt’s hands are still biting into Credence’s hips.

“Stand up,” Newt says evenly, and Credence does. He turns to face Newt, mostly keeping his eyes trained on the floor, the creased lap of Newt’s trousers where Credence just vacated.

“You. Will you get — “ Newt clears his throat, his face very red. “Get on the floor for me, Credence.”

Credence sinks to his knees with no hesitation, kneeling between Newt’s spread legs and daring to rest his cheek on Newt’s knee. It is the right thing to do; Newt starts playing with his hair immediately. Credence hasn’t been so happy in weeks.

“I have you at home, waiting for me when I get off work,” Newt begins lowly, his chest rising and falling only shallowly as he speaks. “I see you in the kitchen, through my bay window as I pull in the driveway. Wearing one of my shirts, maybe — yes, actually. That grey one you always steal from me. I watch you through the window as I pull in the driveway and think about how lucky I am, and all the things I want to do to you.”

Credence hangs on every word, imagining the cool linoleum of Newt’s kitchen floor under his bare feet, the smell of that shirt close to his nose, the warm weight of it over his shoulders. Newt scratches his nails against Credence’s scalp, hard enough for a dull pain to bloom in his fingers’ wake.

“You greet me at the door when you hear me come in from outside. You kneel down like this to take off my shoes.”

In front of him now, it is very hard to take his eyes away from the tenting starting to rise in earnest at Newt’s scrubs. Credence wants to lean forward, his mouth already wet for it, but he knows better. (He thinks.)

Newt smiles down at him, warmly fond, and cups Credence’s face in both hands. “I think you’re looking up at me just like this.” He drags the corner of his thumbnail lightly across the top of Credence’s cheekbone as something in his expression shifts. Credence can’t place it. “I know you want to go to bed,” Newt continues, “but I make you wait. I make both of us wait. We have dinner on the couch, and even after I think I’ll just have your head in my lap, darling, waiting for me.”

“Why?” Credence rasps, throat tight as he looks up at Newt, unblinking.

His eyes flutter shut as Newt brushes his thumb over Credence’s bottom lip before digging his thumbnail into the swell of it. It should be an odd thing to do, but it makes something new and sharp twist low in Credence’s belly.

“Because I know you squirm, just like this, when you get impatient. Sometimes I like to see it, knowing you’re waiting for me.”

Credence lets himself be guided up from his haunches so all his weight is on his knees as Newt bends to press their foreheads together, then kiss his temple.

“I do take you though, after you finally ask,” Newt murmurs into his hair. “I see you working up to asking me, and how could I say no to you?”

He is very glad for Newt’s hands on him that keep him upright despite his loose, weak joints, the slack support of his spine.

“I think I want you to strip for me, but I can only watch you from the bed for a minute before I can’t keep my hands off of you.” Newt gives a little tug on Credence’s hair, close to his scalp, where he was raking through it. “Can you believe that?”

Credence would believe Newt if he said down was up and gravity was a hoax. “Yes, sir.”

Newt’s eyes flutter closed for a moment.  “Yes, sweet thing, let’s say you ask me that nicely to open you up. You ask me, so sweet, and I can see you’re flushed like this —” Newt doesn’t grip Credence’s throat so much as he presses his palm to it, trailing down with light fingers into the wide V of his collar. “Flushed like this, and I haven’t even touched you yet. How lucky could I possibly be, to have you just for me?”

Credence is so hyperfocused on Newt’s words that the hot press of his mouth to Credence’s is a shock that leaves him gasping. He feels Newt grin against the seal of their lips before kissing him more fully, taking Credence’s top lip between his own in a way that makes Credence arch forward with a little cry.

“Newt,” Credence begs when Newt pulls away.

“I’ll finish, I promise.” He rolls the chair forward so Credence is more firmly settled between his legs. “You let me lick you open until you’re sobbing,” Newt takes Credence’s hands in his own to bring them to his lips and speaks against Credence’s knuckles. “You let me do that, until you’re red here,” he reaches down behind Credences back and rubs a single, firm line down the crease of his entrance with his thumb, from the swell at his lower back to the aching weight in front Newt conveniently seems to ignore.

“I can never decide how I want to have you. It would be easy since you’re on your back already, but if I make you turn around I can see how beautiful your back arches for me. On top of me you can’t hide your expression, and I get to see how you look when I take you apart.”

Credence is panting, trying with everything in him to not grind against Newt’s leg. He flushes at the thought, how mortifying it would be — _but_ , as Newt rises from the chair to lift Credence up and onto the desk, the image of it isn’t all bad. Feeling small like that, and knowing Newt didn’t even have to put in any work besides maybe being still — Credence files it away for later.

Newt makes him lay back flat against the desk, his legs stretching out a bit awkwardly at first, kicking the chair back as he settles. Credence spreads them when Newt moves to stand between Credence’s knees, and takes the hint when Newt presses at his thigh to wrap his legs around Newt’s waist.

Credence grabs at Newt greedily when he leans forward, his forearms bracketing Credence’s head on the desk. He claws into Newt’s back as if it will keep him there permanently as Newt kisses the side of Credence’s neck.

“Newt, please,” he gasps. “I’m —”

Newt reaches in the waistband of his scrubs roughly to grip the base of Credence’s cock.

“You shouldn’t,” Newt breathes, haggard, into his ear. “Do you want to go back out front and sit with that stain all day?”

Of course Credence doesn’t _really_ , but the passing thought through his brain seems to just make the problem worse, even as Newt’s grip gets tighter.

“One night, before we close and everyone is gone, my love, I’m going to have you like this and I’ll make you wear your ruined clothes home.”

Credence bucks upward, nearly delirious with want.

There is a noise from the hallway that makes them both stiffen and look to the door. After a moment, a scratching noise and an inquisitive _mrow_ follow.

Newt slumps over him, his forehead hitting the desk with a loud, solid _thunk_.

“Come home with me tonight, love.”

Credence swallows thickly, squeezing his thighs around Newt’s middle just to feel him closer.

“Modesty has a game…” He takes a deep breath, the smell of Newt’s warm skin so close making butterflies dance in his belly. “Would you come with me? And maybe after, uhm.”

The noise at the door is getting more insistent. Newt kisses him once more, thoroughly, sloppy as if they were on Newt’s couch and not in a semi-public room. “I can’t wait.” He murmurs into Credence’s mouth.

Credence is going to _die_.


	2. II.

Credence dreads the game that night, guilty for forcing Newt to go sit on the stiff bleachers with all the noise of the crowd around them. Newt, unbothered, buys him a strawberry sno-cone regardless and nibbles on some popcorn himself as they watch Modesty’s team stretch on one end of the field, the other team running and chanting near the opposite goal. He even hums happily to himself when he feeds Credence some of his popcorn.

Midway through the first period, Newt leans in, his arm slung over Credence’s shoulders and grinning like he does sometimes before a very bad joke.

They are on the very first row of bleachers, where everyone can see them, but Newt doesn’t seem to care as he tilts Credence’s face upwards for a kiss.

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Newt grins when he pulls away, nudging at Credence’s stiff shoulder.

“No,” Credence says quickly, mortified at Newt thinking otherwise. He gives the corner of Newt’s mouth a quick, awkward peck, harder than Credence planned on. He can feel the bumpy ridges of teeth behind Newt’s lip. “I just. In public. You don’t mind?”

There is a loud screaming around them, Credence jumps reflexively before looking back to Newt.

“Why would I mind?” Newt frowns.

Credence shifts, as if there was a truly comfortable way to sit on the unyielding metal of the bleacher. Answering honestly would upset Newt, but lying would upset them both.

Newt spares him having to answer, kissing the highest part of Credence’s cheekbone where it swoops up to his eyesocket.

“How could I mind you letting me touch you,” Newt murmurs into the skin of Credence’s temple, mostly lost in the surrounding noise. “And I get to brag about having you close? That’s a gift.”

Credence has slide down so half his rear is off the bleacher to rest his head on Newt’s shoulder, his legs splayed out in front of him, but it’s worth the reward of Newt’s lips to the crown of his head.

Modesty wins the game with the final goal, he and Newt both surge to their feet and cheer as her teammates all but tackle her to the ground in a tangle of noise and limbs. She hugs them both after like she intends to bowl them over; Credence nearly tumbles under her weight, inhaling some of her sweaty hair in his mouth. Newt squeezes her middle when it’s his turn, laughing as Modesty squeezes him back harder.

“Do you need a ride home, Modesty?”

She beams up at Newt as she pulls her hair back into a neater ponytail, still red-cheeked and breathing heavily. “I think we’re all going to get tacos, but thank you.” She turns to Credence. “Are you going to be home tonight?”

Newt twines an arm around Credence’s waist to draw him close. “Not tonight.”

Credence’s cheeks are twin splotches of numb heat. Modesty just smiles at them and accepts the cash Newt slides her, both of them trying to be sneaky but failing miserably, before bumping Credence’s hip with her own and jogging back to her still-cheering team.

Hand in hand he follows Newt through the crowd and to the car, feeling pleasantly like they exist a few levels removed from the noise, just the two of them.

“Thank you for coming,” he says quietly when Newt is turning out onto the freeway to get back home.

Newt reaches over and squeezes Credence’s knee. “Thank you for inviting me. We can go to the next one together too, if you don’t mind.”

Credence places his hand on top of Newt’s, slots their fingers together. “It’s out of town...”

“A trip then?” Newt beams, the hand on Credence’s knee gripping tighter. “We could — where is it? Why don’t you take some time off work, darling, Tara was saying you have too much PTO last week, wasn’t she? We could go to her game and then...maybe we can go somewhere, just the two of us.”

There is something heavy in Credence’s throat as he melts into his seat. “Do you want to?”

Newt brings Credence’s hand up to his lips as he makes the final left turn to his street. “More than anything. Where would you like to go?”

Anxiety starts to squeeze Credence’s chest. “Can you give me choices, please? I —” he cuts himself short as they park in Newt’s driveway, licks at his dry lips before speaking again. “Actually, I. Can we...can we go to the beach?”

Newt beams at him as he takes Credence’s face between his hands and kisses him, slow and easy. “I would love to, Credence.”

Credence fists one of his hands in Newt’s shirt when he pulls away.

“I missed you. Really, I missed you.” His face and chest are on fire. “I want to...can we try, like what you said at lunch?” He fumbles.

Beside him, Newt’s breath is shallow but loud, taking up most of the space around them. He doesn’t move, though, so Credence carefully removes his hand from Newt’s shirt and all but trips out of the car. He fumbles on his key ring for the key to Newt’s door — the sight of it in his hands still enough to make his stomach flip — and goes inside, turning on the lights so Newt can see him from the car. The absence of  Newt in this house with Credence in it feels a bit strange, maybe, but the promise of him coming in soon enough balms over the worst of it. Credence yanks his shirt off before he’s even in Newt’s bedroom, tossing it in Newt’s hamper before digging in the dresser for his favorite of Newt’s shirts: loose and grey and well-worn, well-loved by Newt and Credence both.

Credence pauses before he exits the bedroom. Newt mentioned the shirt, but nothing else. He worries a cuticle between his teeth; he wants to get this _right_. Did Newt not mention it because it was supposed to be obvious?

He won’t just leave Newt waiting in the car. Before he can re-think, Credence shucks off his pants and then his briefs before putting them in the hamper with a little more care than his shirt, as if that would make them easier to retrieve if he’s wrong.

The walk to the kitchen is cold on his legs; the shirt only comes down to cover barely half of his ass, and Newt has left the A/C on to stave off the building, humid heat outside. Credence is covered in gooseflesh as he fumbles around the kitchen cabinets. He’s not hungry in the least, and he also doesn’t want to waste too much time actually cooking something they probably won’t actually eat.

He’s pulling down bowls for cereal when the sunroom door opens, and he nearly shatters them on the floor in his haste to get to the door separating it from the den.

Newt steps in through the door, all the blue in his eyes swallowed up by black and looking at Credence a bit like he wants to eat him alive. All the places his gaze goes — Credence’s face, the hollow of his throat, the bend of his knee, caught midway to kneeling, the rosy head of his dick, stiff in the cold air and dripping under Newt’s attention — feel like flint catching fire in a passing breeze, small but building up to swallow him whole. He falls to his knees fully in front of Newt, half reaching for the laces of his shoes before looking up, a request for permission, to check if he’s still doing this right.

Slowly, Newt slides his leg out so the toe of his shoe is almost underneath Credence, between the part of his legs; could tilt up and brush underneath his cock, press it up to his stomach and stain Newt’s shirt with his eagerness. Credence nearly bites his lip clear through as he shakes the image free, bending down to untie Newt’s laces. He hooks a hand around Newt’s ankle to lift his foot up and remove the shoe, rewarded by Newt’s hand on his head as he keeps his balance. The weight of it keeps him in his body, and he is very still as Newt rights himself again, feeling useful. The pads of Credence’s fingers feel impossibly sensitive untying the next lace, feeling the hair of Newt’s leg as he touches his ankle again. On second thought, after he removes the second shoe, Credence reaches to roll the socks off as well.

“Very good,” Newt says, more a rumble straight from his chest than anything from his mouth. “Thank you, Credence.”

He looks up at Newt under his eyelashes before daring to lean forward, press his lips to the taut, dense muscle of Newt’s thigh.

“Thank you, Newt,” He mumbles into the kiss, the warm drag of Newt’s pants against his mouth a burn he wishes would catch and eat him up.

“Show me what you’ve made for dinner.”

Newt helps Credence to his feet, follows him to the kitchen to see the empty cereal bowls. He leans down to press a kiss to the upwards slope of his shoulder to his neck. “Filling. Just what I was craving.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence mumbles. 

“Don’t be. Take your time, make what you want to eat while I call around for a hotel, yes?”

Warm relief floods Credence’s chest, his stomach, hangs thick in his throat. “I haven’t put in the PTO form.”

Newt laughs as he pinches the curve of Credence’s rear where it folds down to his thigh. “I feel sure your boss will understand the need for a quick turnaround.”

Midway through dialing a number on his phone, Newt looks up to Credence where he’s rucking through the fridge for milk; it seems in Credence’s absence Newt’s habit of not throwing out expired cartons has come back in full force.

“I’m going to make you eat whatever you make, love. Make sure it’s something you want.”

Credence freezes, even as a little line of fire races up his spine and back down again. Newt’s asked him to eat before, tricked him into it, even, but never said he would make him. Not like that.

He closes the refrigerator, trying to place the feeling.

Not _bad_. Not like That Woman. Newt wants him to eat because he likes to take care of Credence, and they are both sort of play-acting anyway, Credence is pretty sure. If Credence said no, Newt wouldn’t really make him.

So, not bad. That’s enough for now, he can think about it fully later; Newt might be actually hungry, not just for pretend. He opens the refrigerator again and grabs cheese and butter, then heats a pan for cheese sandwiches. That sounds better to Credence than cereal, if he has to eat.

Newt kisses his temple from behind him, near the island. “Very good, thank you.”

Credence half listens to Newt’s phone call as he cooks. As he’s flipping the second sandwich, Newt presses a post-it from the counter to Credence’s shoulder, using it as a table to scribble something on. He continues talking into the phone held between his ear and shoulder without pause as if the action was thoughtless, expectant of Credence being able to be still and good enough for him to jot his notes on.

He is as still as possible. Newt’s breathing ruffles the hair shorn short at the back of his neck, he can feel the rolling pressure of the pen as Newt writes. Why wouldn’t he use Credence as a desk? He trusts Credence to be still and to wait, and Credence can do that. Why would he use the island or the counter or the fridge when Credence could do something just as well?

Newt taps the pad lightly against Credence’s shoulder before he turns away, and Credence scrambles to get the sandwich out of the pan before it burns, since desks don’t usually cook and he’s just now regained use of his arms. Credence pulls a beer out for Newt right as he ends the call before getting a glass of water for himself.

“Looks delicious, sweet thing. Thank you.”

Credence wants to take Newt’s meal in the den first, lay it out and get him settled before going back for his own, but Newt is already carrying his plate and beer, so Credence is left only with his dinner and the half-formed thoughts that are starting to sit heavy on his tongue,

“Newt,” he says slowly, almost like he’s listening to someone else speak in his body, use his mouth for a question Credence isn’t quite sure how to ask, himself, “That. In the kitchen, when you wrote on me.”

He has stopped at the end of the couch, but Newt already settled in his spot at the end of it. He looks up at Credence with his mouth already on the corner of one of the sandwich halves.

“I. I liked that.” Credence shifts on his feet. That’s true, so it should be the first thing out of his mouth, the easiest to say. “Could...could we do that, uhm, more?”

Newt blinks up at him like a puzzle, but not like he’s being made fun of. Credence knows Newt wouldn’t do that.

“What did you like, exactly?”

He shifts on his feet. “I liked. Uhm. The weight. Being still. Being —” Newt has asked him, and he expects an honest answer, and Credence’s embarrassment isn’t anything in the face of that, he reminds himself, “being use— useful. I liked that you…” Newt is looking up at him like every word is life or death, Credence makes himself continue. “That you did it because, uhm. You could. It — just because you wanted to. I liked that.”

Newt puts his plate down on the end table and takes a sip of his beer. “Put that down on the table, Credence.”

The same pressing heat from the kitchen starts creeping up his spine. He puts his plate and glass down, half tempted to sink to his knees again just because.

Newt is looking him up and down critically, almost like he would during an exam. He spreads his knees to a wide V, then jerks his chin down from Credence to the floor.

“Sit here, cross-legged. Back to me. Just like that, thank you.”

Credence swallows thickly, his back pressed against the couch, surrounded by the heat and smell of Newt’s skin. Slowly, Newt moves so the legs bracketing Credence rest draped over his shoulders.

“Oh.”

“Alright?”

He sinks back further to the couch and under the new, perfect weight around him, keeping Credence small and manageable. All Credence has to do is be still and enjoy Newt letting him be so close.

Credence leans his head back so he can look up at Newt. His face feels stretched in what he knows must be a dopey grin, but it’s all he can manage and it’s enough for Newt, who rubs his hands through Credence’s hair.

“You are the best-looking footstool I’ve ever seen,” he chuckles, raking his nails over Credence’s scalp. He takes the side of his foot and nudges Credence’s leg with it.

“...Did you know I would like it?” Credence asks after a minute, getting lightheaded from holding his head back like this.

“Being used as a desk?” Newt smirks. “Would you believe you were just the closest surface?”

Credence flushes, tilts his chin down to look straight ahead to the TV. Newt reaches down and starts rubbing at Credence’s neck, making firm circles with his thumbs on the ridges of his vertebrae.

“I’m glad you told me. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you did.”

Credence dares a look back, sees that Newt probably means that.

He looks back to the TV, but it just registers as light and sound, no coherency. Newt is also silent, his hands working at Credence’s neck and shoulders, the prickling rise of Credence’s scalp under his blunt nails, until he speaks again.

“Are you alright with this while I eat?”

“Yes, please.”

Newt grips the hair in his fist once, hardly a pull, before drawing his hand back. Credence hears the first few seconds of him returning to his food and turning the TV volume up a little higher before he doesn’t hear anything at all. Newt’s legs are heavy and warm, and the only thing Credence has to worry about is being still enough to not jostle them — hardly a price to pay for the soaring, floating sensation of Credence being so in his body that he is out of it.

Credence is unsure exactly how long he’s out of it before Newt adjusts his legs, crossing them at the ankle over Credence’s chest so he’s even more pinned to the couch.

“Are you back with me, love?”

It takes him several moments to remember how his mouth works in relation to human language, and even then Credence doesn’t manage, instead lifting a hollow feeling hand to wrap around Newt’s ankle.

Newt bends over at the waist behind Credence so he can nearly fold over Credence’s back. He wraps his arms around Credence’s chest and shoulders — high up, mostly around his neck in a way that makes Credence’s eyelids flutter — and kisses Credence’s cheek.

“Thank you,” Credence manages.

“Did that feel good?”

He can’t completely contain his squirming, but Newt stays wrapped around him, heavy at his back. Newt wants him to be honest, and Newt has never made him feel bad for liking something. Credence reminds himself that Newt’s shown him maybe a million times how much he cares if Credence enjoys himself when they spend any time together, platonic or otherwise.

“Yes.”

Credence turns his head to kiss Newt, catching the few crumbs still there from his sandwich.

“I love you,” he breathes when he pulls back to press their foreheads together.

“I love you,” Newt murmurs back, disentangling himself from Credence after a moment of closeness and helping him to his feet. Newt’s dry, rough hands are steady keeping him upright when Credence feels he could sway and topple with the barest suggestion of a breeze.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t exactly like you said,” Credence says, oddly slurred even to his own ears as Newt guides him to the bedroom.

Newt huffs as he positions Credence to stand at the foot of his unmade bed, rubbing his hands up and down Credence’s arms. It’s nice. Credence hadn’t realized how cold he was.

“That’s because,” Newt begins, whisper soft, continuing only between soft kisses up Credence’s neck and jaw, “you make everything I think I want better. Don’t apologize. I loved it.”

“You did?” Credence sees stars as Newt sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, the filthy sucking noise echoing in his ears.

It is perhaps answer enough. Newt is unbearably slow slipping Credence’s shirt off, kissing him softly still, so the nearly rough push he gets back onto the bed is a shock that settles hot as fire behind his dick.

“Alright?” Newt pants, ripping his own shirt off and shucking his pants off carelessly.

“Yes I — yes.”

Newt crawls on top of him, smiling lazily. “I love you,” he says again, kissing down Credence’s little cries as he reaches down, teasing at Credence’s entrance, and Credence doesn’t get to answer either way.

“How should I have you now?” He hums, fumbling in his nightstand drawer for lubricant. “I was thinking about it the entire time I had you down at my feet. How easy it would be to make you turn around —”

“ _Please_ ,” Credence begs. “I want that, I want —”

“But,” Newt interrupts, pinching briefly at the bridge of Credence’s nose, grinning. “Footstools don’t do that, do they?”

Credence bucks up, finding no purchase or friction to grind into. “ _Newt_ ,” he whines. “I’m not — would you do this to a footstool now?”

Newt rolls off of him, hiccuping and trying to contain his laughter. “If the footstool looked like you, I can’t say I wouldn’t be tempted,” he giggles, tears shining in the corners of his eyes. Credence rolls over with a huff, flushed himself and poking at Newt’s chest impatiently.

“Be serious.”

Newt shrugs, still beaming. “I am.”

He cups Credence’s face and kisses him when he can manage to stifle his lingering chuckles. “I have _missed_ you, love.”

Credence kisses Newt like he wants to drown himself in it, panting and breathless when Newt pulls away.

“Tonight, darling, is this alright? I think I’ve decided this is how I’ll have you.”

“Whatever you want,” Credence gasps, tongue heavy in his mouth, his lips numb.

Smiling dopily, Newt sits up and drizzles slickness onto his hand from the little bottle before stroking at Credence with it. The slip only just blurs the roughest part of Newt’s touch, the worst of his callouses, and Credence feels his eyes roll back in his head as he arches into the touch with a grunt.

When Credence is slick and wet to Newt’s content, Newt removes his hand and coats himself — Credence thinks he’s going to come on the spot, seeing the arch of Newt’s neck as he throws it back, his lip caught between his teeth, hearing the wet noise of his strokes — before pulling Credence closer by the hips, pressed together.

“Alright?”

Credence rolls his hips forward experimentally in answer. When Newt holds them both together in one hand between their bodies, the other biting into Credence’s hip, Credence wriggles his own down. He follows the rhythm Newt sets and kisses Newt’s smiling mouth when he seals it to Credence’s own.

Newt’s fingers on his flank leave warm, red scratches in their wake, their noses bump together awkwardly more than once, leaving them laughing, and as Credence studies the swooping lines and bumps and ridges of Newt’s face like it’s the first time he’s been allowed to look upon them, he is blissfully sure nothing else could make him happier than what’s in his hands now.

He’s so focused on the little parts — the skin of their knees brushing, the tickle of Newt’s hair, the warm, bright shine of his eye, crinkled in mirth — that his release takes him by surprise. Newt bites into his shoulder only moments later, muffling a groan as he comes onto Credence’s chest.

Credence hardly has the sheet pulled over them before Newt is asleep, his heavy arms still slung around Credence’s middle. Credence burrows forward, as far into Newt’s chest as he’s able, and follows.


	3. 03.

03.

The next week passes like a fever dream. Credence misfiles charts, spills Coke on himself twice on two different days at lunch, and generally operates with maybe only fifteen percent of his total possible brain function.

“Darling, are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Newt tuts as they leave work Wednesday evening, a little frown creasing his brow as Credence digs in the cabinets near his desk for his keys.

“I’m fine I’m just — I’m sorry. I can’t stop....I’m just thinking about the weekend. I’m, um. Excited. Happy. I can’t think about anything else.” 

Newt beams at him, bringing Credence’s hand up to kiss. The knuckles, the back, the palm he pries open like a shell.  “Not as excited as me, I don’t think.”

Credence wraps his arms around Newt’s waist, burying his face in Newt’s neck. “I know I am,” he mumbles. 

Newt allows them to stand in the lobby, just holding each other, until Credence pulls away. He laces their fingers together before locking the front door behind them and guiding them to his car.

“Do you mind a — ah. Stop, first? Before we head home?”

Credence leans down to put his face directly in front of the vent puffing out lukewarm air as the car starts up.

“Not Indian food.”

“I wouldn’t dare ruin your good mood.”

“Then yes, please.”

Newt hums happily to himself as they drive to the mall, which Credence should have expected. Before the weather had really even started to change, Newt had bought Credence all manner of jeans and short-sleeved shirts and a new set of sneakers that are too nice, Credence thinks, to actually put his feet in, but Newt is never done being generous. Credence knows that.

Credence loves that, until Newt is handing him a plethora of indecent swim trunks in the store, heedless of Credence’s panicked sputtering.

“Newt, can’t I just wear my jeans — you bought me shirts before, let me wear them.”

Another pair of trunks is added to the mountain already in his hands, a glaring red that nearly glows in the fluorescent light. 

Newt’s bottom lip is poked out. “But then what excuse would I have to rub sunscreen on your back?”

Credence stops midstep. Newt comes up behind him, a hand on his lower back. 

“Alright?”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” Credence murmurs. He imagines the broad sweeps of Newt’s hands on his back, kneading at his shoulders like they haven’t had time for in weeks. “I’ll wear the shorts,” he nods after a moment, decided.

Newt presses a kiss to the juncture at his neck and shoulder, barely nipping the skin there. “If you go with these,” he lifts the red pair up, dangling them in front of Credence’s face, “I can make sure to get all that lovely skin on your thighs. Sun damage is no joke, you know. I'd be a horrible boyfriend to let you get sunburnt.”

A woman at the end of the aisle is looking at them oddly. Credence ducks his head and takes a step away from Newt’s stocky, warm body with a steadying breath.

“...I haven’t been to the beach in a long time,” he says slowly as they enter the dressing room. His face is on fire, so hot he thinks he can hear the sizzle of his skin. “You might have to prac— to help me practice, to show me how to do that before we go. Since it’s important.”

Newt presses him to the dressing room door before it’s even really closed, much less locked. The clothes fall to the floor with a dull thump, but Credence is only focused on the rough brush of Newt’s hands as he shoves Credence’s scrubs midway down his thighs. He leaves Credence’s underwear up, only snaking a hand inside to stroke Credence to stiffness. 

“Tease,” Newt groans into Credence’s skin. “How incredibly unkind.”

Credence wills his lips to fuse together. If he makes noise and they get caught, he will ruin whatever Newt is trying to give him. 

Newt keeps his touch light and teasing, and just as Credence is fully hard, he pulls away. His stubbled face is flushed splotchy, and Credence can only blink at him owlishly as the ability to speak catches up with him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He kisses the corner of Credence’s mouth before bending down to rummage through the trunks. “Of course not, my love. Would you like to try these blue ones first?”

“Uhm.” At a loss for anything else to do, too embarrassed to ask Newt to continue, Credence awkwardly peels off his scrubs, making a half hearted attempt to cover himself with his hands before Newt bats them away.

“No, let me see — let me look at you.” Newt guides the trunks on over Credence’s legs, which feel like jell-o, and over the warm cotton of his underwear, straining over his cock like a prison. “I want to make sure it’s decent, even when you’re like this,” Newt murmurs into the skin of Credence’s shoulder. “I’d hate to get kicked off the beach, just for having a little fun.”

In the mirror when their eyes meet, Credence can’t help but shudder. “Would you really hate it?”

He watches Newt’s smile stretch his face wide. “No.”

“I wish we were home,” Credence whispers. His whole body feels like it’s trembling trying to contain all the want in him. 

Newt nuzzles into the crop of Credence’s hair, humming. “So we could what?”

Credence can’t stop watching them in the mirror. They are hardly moving, but his chest is still flushing red the longer Newt strokes idly at his sides and stomach, barely kissing at his neck. He is still hard in the swim trunks, and maybe he is becoming vain, but Credence’s gaze catches there and stays. 

“You know what,” he murmurs back, daring to grind back against Newt’s stiff length. 

“Hm,” Newt ponders theatrically, propping his chin on Credence’s shoulder, his arms wrapped around Credence’s middle. “I suppose we could play Monopoly, if you want.”

“ _ Newt. _ ”

“But I was hoping I could eat you out, before we get too settled —”

Credence whirls around, one hand flat to Newt’s smiling mouth. “Someone can hear you!”

Newt nips at Credence’s palm before slipping the trunks off of him. “We’ll be getting these, then. Red next?”

Every pair they try on, after a similar act, they put in the “buy” pile. At the fourth pair, Credence snaps. He kicks them off of his ankles and pushes Newt back until he falls onto the little dressing room seat, smooshing the clothes underneath. Credence straddles his lap, hardly able to fit them both on the hard bench.

“Please take me home,” he whines. “I can’t —”

Newt  _ shush _ es him, running a hand up his chest to soothe. “You’ve done so well. I’m sorry for teasing.”

He slips his hand into Credence’s underwear again, the other splayed on Credence’s lower back.

“You aren’t sorry, really.”

“Not unless you are, love.”

His thumb sweeps over the head of Credence’s length, and Credence can’t help but arch back. 

“Can you stay quiet, Credence?” Newt kisses the shell of Credence’s ear so unbearably softly Credence thinks he may, actually, die from it.

“You know I can.”

“Yes, but I like to hear you say it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Newt’s grip on him tightens, his pace picking up. Credence bites his lip and doesn’t make a sound. How long have they been in here for? Would someone come and check? He’s trying to be quiet, but maybe the rustling sounds suspicious, maybe there are cameras —

Credence feels himself inexplicably harden further with the thought. Newt is beautiful, and anyone watching would undoubtedly feel jealous. If it were Credence behind the camera, he’d be positively green with it, sick to his stomach with want.

But he isn’t. He’s in Newt’s lap, his release building up on the wave of pride coursing through his body. Newt wants him here. Newt couldn’t wait for them to get home before putting his hands on Credence. Maybe Credence can brag about that. Maybe he should.

With the hand resting at Credence’s lower back, Newt pops the waistband of Credence’s underwear against his skin. He smiles up at Credence, lazy and predatory like Credence has rarely seen.

“I’m going to make you wear these home, I think. Would you mind?”

Credence swears, and before he can think past Newt’s words his release ribbons Newt’s hand, pools uncomfortably in his underwear.

Newt kisses Credence’s temple, keeping his hand wrapped around Credence’s length until Credence’s breathing has evened out and he’s soft again.

“Are you hungry, my love? I have a sudden craving for the orange chicken in the food court. Do you think you can —”

Credence presses their mouths together, clumsy and artless. “Take me home, Newt. Please.”

Newt doesn’t let him sit in the car while he checks out, but Credence didn’t really mean it when he asked, anyway. He shifts and fidgets as Newt makes small talk with the cashier at the register. Surely someone  _ knows _ . Surely, maybe, there’s visible wetness seeping through his scrubs, no matter that Newt took care to rub most of the mess in — if nothing else, the flush still staining his skin spells out I ENGAGED IN ILLICIT ACTIVITIES WITH MY MUCH OLDER BOYFRIEND IN YOUR DRESSING ROOM. 

The cashier hums as she packs up their purchases, utterly unbothered. Maybe Credence  _ wants  _ it to be obvious. Maybe he wants to make this strange girl jealous, that Newt couldn’t keep his hands off of him, that Newt wants him, that Newt loves him and told him so three times between the dressing room and the register. 

Credence squeezes Newt’s hand, the realization in and of itself causing heat to pool again low in his belly. Newt squeezes back even harder, winking as he grabs the bags from the cashier.

They touch each other the entire ride home. Credence trails his fingers up Newt’s thigh as he drives, grips his hand over the gearshift. Newt cups Credence at all the red lights, not ever stroking him  _ enough _ , firm  _ enough _ , fast  _ enough.  _

As soon as they are parked in Newt’s driveway, Newt makes to climb out of the car, but Credence stops him.

“Everything alright?”

The streetlights in his neighborhood pour orange into the dark road. Some of the houses near them have light from their televisions or their lamps flickering out through their windows, but it’s late enough there aren’t any joggers on the street. No one is walking their dog.

Public. But not. 

“Can we stay here for a minute?” Credence asks, unsure how else to say it. 

Newt presses flat back to his seat, looking at Credence with a carefully blank expression.

“For what?”

“I want —” he licks at his lips, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I want to try.” Slowly, he leans over, pulling the waist of Newt’s scrubs down awkwardly. Newt bites down a little giggle as he lifts his hips up and takes mercy on Credence’s suffering to push them down himself. 

He cards his fingers through Credence’s hair as Credence sets to work, kissing Newt’s thigh before getting his mouth around the crown of Newt’s cock. Pride unfurls in Credence’s chest as Newt hardens on his tongue, the hands in his hair starting to grip and pull. 

A determined person, if they knew what to look for, could see them like this. Could see Credence making Newt fall apart, bucking into Credence’s mouth as he tries his best to hollow his cheeks around the intrusion, copying what he likes Newt to do to him and hoping for the best. This remains one of Credence’s favorite things in the world; the weight on his tongue an anchor that weighs down into his body. Newt’s smell close as a physical touch, his taste the only thing Credence can remember. 

Newt pulls a fistful of Credence’s hair when he comes, his groan reverberating into Credence’s own chest, which is really just an empty place to hold all the gifts Newt gives him. A cavern to shelve the things too big to fit in Newt’s body alone, to cradle the cast off noises and looks that Newt can’t call back into himself, but Credence refuses to let lay waste in the air where anyone could take and waste them.

He swallows the noise and the twitching along with Newt’s release — humming in satisfaction for that, himself, that he’s finally gotten the hang of it — and holds Newt in his mouth until Newt pries him up and off.

Credence is hardly able to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before Newt is peppering his face with kisses. 

“Was that okay?”

Newt bites down on the bottom swell of Credence’s lip, sucking it into his mouth. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

His voice is hoarse. There is, perhaps, no single cell in Credence’s body that isn’t alight with — with what? What should he call it?

“Maybe,” Credence answers honestly. “Was it?”

Newt’s face splits into a very wicked grin before he leans forward, kissing Credence thoroughly.

“Tastes like it was,” Newt muses against his mouth. Credence pulls away, sputtering and stained red with embarrassment.

“That’s gross,” he whines, nose wrinkled in distaste. Newt only laughs at him, pinching Credence’s cheek before tucking himself back in his pants. He refuses Credence’s help with the bags from the store, similarly ignoring Credence’s pleading objections to skip dinner and go straight to bed once they make it in the house. 

“I appreciate your youth, but I can’t make it on wanting you alone. Have mercy.” He starts rummaging through his fridge as if he has any idea what to do with any of the foodstuffs in there. “ _ Feed me, Seymore. _ ”

Credence shudders. “Why do you have remind me about that movie?” 

He nudges Newt out of the way, eyeing the contents of his refrigerator critically.

“...I think you’re going to have to order a pizza,” Credence manages, attempting to be as diplomatic as possible as he shuts the horrors of Newt’s fridge away. 

“Life is suffering,” Newt huffs dramatically. He cups the sticky, stiff front of Credence's scrub pants in passing as he reaches for his phone on the counter. “Do you want to change?” He asks lightly, phone pressed to his ear. Credence thinks he is trying very hard to look nonchalant.

He shifts on his feet. “I— no. The pants, maybe. There's cat hair on them. But I...could I keep the underwear on, please?” He finishes in a mumble, studying the floor.

Newt tilts Credence's chin up, held between his thumb and forefinger. He kisses him briefly, then his cheek, his temple, the fluttering velvet of his eyelid. “Yes, love.” He pulls back, clearing his throat as a muffled voice filters out from the other end of the line, and Credence shuffles back to the bedroom while Newt orders. The pants go in the hamper; after a moment of consideration his shirt follows. Newt is still talking on the phone, so Credence ambles through Newt’s closet and drawers. He runs each piece of fabric between his fingers — this is what Newt wore when he took Credence to the fair, candy apple coating stuck in his teeth for hours after, this is what Credence stole and wore to Queenie’s birthday party — before pulling out a dark green sweatshirt and pulling it over his head.

“Cold?”

Credence whips around to face the door, where Newt is propped with his arms crossed over his chest.

“No.” Credence rubs the cuff of the sweatshirt between his fingers. “Just wanted to...I. I wanted to—” _ smell you, feel like a clothes hanger for something that's yours so I can be close without  _ myself  _ getting in the way, remember the time you tried to make us spaghetti wearing it  _ — “Do you mind?”

“Never. My clothes look best on you, after all.” He guides Credence back to the living room, pulling Credence's feet into his lap after flicking the television on. After a moment, Credence pulls Newt’s iPad into his lap from the end table, playing a half hearted game of solitaire before pulling up Google Earth, just to watch the beach for a while. He imagines where they’ll sit, zooming the picture in and out at different angles. Would they have one of those big umbrellas? What shorts would Newt really want him to wear? How long could they make it before having to go up to the hotel room?

Newt rubs Credence’s feet idly until the food arrives. He makes terrible puns and innuendos throughout dinner about what Credence should expect after, but they end up falling asleep on the couch, no sex having been had. They wake to a particularly loud infomercial advertising a combined smoothie maker, juicer, blender, and no-churn ice cream machine, and after Credence forces the first cup of coffee into Newt’s hands, they follow each other into the shower wordlessly.

They are a few minutes late to work, but Tara, hair mussed and a suspicious amount of concealer on her neck, isn't in any shape to rag on them for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the exhibitionism snuck in here without my planning, really...I'll probably be adding at least another chapter onto this now, since this wasn't exactly what I had planned originally ;) Next time: the boys make it to the beach!
> 
> thank you so very much for reading! feedback is appreciated more than I can say. 
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://violetteacup.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Combine a planned sequel with Kinktober to take more off my plate? Me? Post a Kinktober fic before it's even October? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> Title from "What You Know" by Two Door Cinema Club. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always loved and appreciated


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